poem: A weekly poem, read by the author.

"Water"

By Paul Guest
Posted Tuesday, May 3, 2005, at 5:22 AM ET

Listen to Paul Guest reading this poem.


How I wanted to graze with my hand
the armored hides of sturgeons
aslosh in their shallow tanks
I did not tell you, nor did I think
to say how the garfish, sentry-like
in their dull brown orbits,
with their pen-shaped snouts skimming food,
were named by someone
who knew that gar meant spear
in Old English. I forgot
my place in the story I idly told you,
as we rose in the elevator,
as your hands found in my neck a knot
your fingers could untie
with ease. Love, you know
that language failed me
early with you: in my mouth you found
a hidden stammer. In all
the days since, what have I said
that was right? So little.
But know: when we stood on one side
of thick glass to watch
a world of water ignore our entire lives,
I kissed your fingers
and each one in that light was blue.

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Paul Guest is the author of The Resurrection of the Body and the Ruin of the World. His poems appear in Poetry, Crazyhorse, Prairie Schooner, Swink, and elsewhere. Visit his blog at http://paulguest.blogspot.com.
Click here to visit Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project site.


Please note: Because Slate's backlog of accepted poems is substantial, poetry
editor Robert Pinsky will not be reading new submissions until December 2005.
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